"What gives me authority?" Richard stepped closer, jabbing his index finger toward Julian’s chest. "I’ll tell you who I am. My name is Richard Collins. I am the Senior Director of Acquisitions for Westbridge Development. We own three of the four high-rises currently being erected on this boulevard. We control the capital that finances the ground you are standing on."
Richard leaned in, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "And who the hell are you? Some mid-level associate at a boutique accounting firm? A junior manager who blew his bonus on a bespoke suit to impress his country-bumpkin father? If you know what's good for your career, boy, you’ll take your father, apologize for scuffing my shoes, and scurry back to the suburbs."
The dining room held its breath.
Julian did not flinch. His expression remained unreadable, like stone carved over millennia. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow of a smile touched the corner of his lips—a smile that promised total ruin.
"Richard Collins," Julian repeated slowly, savoring the name as if memorizing an entry on a ledger of condemned assets. "Westbridge Development."
"That's right," Richard sneered, pulling out an embossed silver business card and carelessly letting it drop onto the table between them. "Memorize it. Because if you utter one more word to me, I’ll call the board of real estate development and ensure you never work in this sector again. I can crush your entire existence with one phone call."
Arthur let out a soft, dry chuckle behind Julian. The sound was so calm, so devoid of fear, that it irritated Richard more than a direct insult.
"What are you laughing at, old man?" Richard snapped.
"I am merely amused," Arthur replied, adjusting his restored glasses, "by how small a man must feel inside to believe that brick and mortar make him a god."
"Shut your mouth!" Richard raised his hand aggressively, pointing directly into Arthur’s face.
Before his arm could fully extend, Julian’s left hand shot out like an iron vice.
Julian caught Richard’s wrist in mid-air. The grip was absolute, bone-crushing, and immovable.
Richard gasped, his eyes bulging as the pressure compressed the radial nerve in his arm. He tried to yank his hand back, but it was like trying to pull away from an industrial clamp.
"Do not point at my father again," Julian said, leaning down so his words brushed Richard’s ear in a razor-sharp whisper. "You boast of making one phone call to ruin a life. Allow me to demonstrate how that is truly done."
Julian released Richard’s wrist with a dismissive shove. Richard stumbled back two paces, clutching his throbbing forearm, his face pale with sudden, visceral shock.
Julian turned his head toward Marcus Croft, who stood patiently behind them with his encrypted tablet already glowing active.
"Marcus," Julian commanded calmly.
"Yes, Mr. Vance," the attorney responded instantly, his demeanor brisk and lethal.
"Bring me the portfolio for Westbridge Development."
Chapter 4: The Unraveling Threads
At the mention of the surname "Vance," several elderly diners in the back corner of the rotunda froze. Whispers began to ripple outward like shockwaves across water.
Richard, rubbing his reddened wrist, scoffed in an attempt to recover his shattered bravado. "Vance? What, you think having a common name makes you royalty? I know every major player in this district, and I’ve never seen your face at a single municipal gala."
Julian ignored him entirely. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a sleek, unbranded titanium smartphone. He tapped the screen once, placing the call on speakerphone at a crisp, audible volume.
After a single chime, a woman’s authoritative voice sounded through the speaker.
"Executive Office. Go ahead, Mr. Vance."
"Evelyn," Julian spoke into the air, his eyes never leaving Richard’s increasingly bewildered face. "Connect me directly to Thomas Sterling, Chairman of Sterling Sovereign Capital, and put him on line one. Then pull the syndicated loan facilities for Westbridge Development."
Richard’s smirk began to curdle at the edges. Sterling Sovereign Capital? Sterling was the multi-billion-dollar private debt syndicate that held eighty-five percent of Westbridge’s construction financing for the Grand Avenue project.
"Connecting Chairman Sterling now, sir," the assistant replied.
A two-second beep followed, replaced by the deep, hurried voice of an older man breathing heavily, as if he had dropped everything to answer.
"Julian! Good Lord, I didn't expect you to call directly. We are finalizing the third tranche of debt for the municipal towers as we speak. Is there an issue with the covenants?"